


In Friendship's Name

by Kettle_of_Fish



Category: Gilbert & Sullivan & Related Fandoms, Iolanthe - Sullivan/Gilbert
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Tolloller is so very gay, bi character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 13:57:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18251243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kettle_of_Fish/pseuds/Kettle_of_Fish
Summary: In which Tolloller gets engaged by accident, and doesn't quite know what to do about it.





	In Friendship's Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mischieffoal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mischieffoal/gifts).
  * Inspired by [not in better spirits](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11454402) by [ernestdummkompf (JehanFerres)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JehanFerres/pseuds/ernestdummkompf). 
  * Inspired by [A fairy down to the waist](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14082159) by [Mischieffoal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mischieffoal/pseuds/Mischieffoal). 



“All I’m saying is that you must at least _seem_ to be in love with her, if you are to avoid rousing suspicions.”

“What suspicions?” asked Tolloller.

“People will think you,” Mountararat searched for a suitably vague turn of phrase, “stand for the opposition party.”

“Oh, George,” said Tolloller dolefully, “you know perfectly well that I don’t stand for anything at all.”

“Or anyone?”

Tolloller felt his cheeks grow pink.

“Look,” said Mountararat, “it’s for your own sake that I’m saying this. Let me be quite candid with you, as our friendship demands. Every other lord in the house is quite in love with her. I am myself. Your lack of interest cannot help but seem a little queer.”

“Then what, precisely, am I to do,” demanded Tolloller hotly.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Mountararat. “Praise her good looks. I have heard your speeches in the house, Tolloller, and you are the leading expert in saying things which you do not mean.”

“Why thank you,” Tolloller beamed.

“Indeed,” said Mountararat. “Just take good care to behave as if she’s slightly more interesting than the wallpaper, and you’ll be halfway there.”

 

***

 

Tolloller supposed he had earnt Mountararat’s chastisement. Proceedings had grown quite incomprehensible lately, and Tolloller had decided not to contribute himself to the chaos. The girl had the entire catalogue of Burke's Peerage as suitors, as far as he could make out – surely she didn’t need another one.

A fine enough argument. And yet... Perhaps, if he had a wife of his own, his lack of interest would be inconspicuous. (Tolloller only went so far as to think “perhaps” – such considerations had proved no impediment to the married peers in the house, who pressed their suit discreetly but no less fervently.)

But his bewilderment was symptomatic of his general condition.

And the situation was becoming dire. Phyllis was to appear before the court tomorrow to settle the matter once and for all. And Tolloller did not wish to let his dear George down.

 

***

 

When the girl stepped into sight, the entire party drew an audible sigh. Little murmurs of “oh rapture!” rippled across the company. Then, every head turned to Tolloller – leader of the House of Lords, of course, damn it – to speak on their behalf.

“Um,” began Tolloller. “Isn’t she fair? She has such pretty, uh, pink lips and… eyes. Her eyes are _pretty_ , I mean, not pink, that would be, hah, ridiculous.” Tolloller laughed nervously. “Well, I’m very rich, I mean _extremely_ rich, rich enough to make up for what she lacks in birth, and…” he thought of George last night, praising his speeches in the house, “and I have excellent grammar.” He looked around. His audience was gazing at him in respectful silence. “Yes,” he finished, “excellent.”

Somebody groaned, a few polite lords applauded, and Mountararat led him aside with a friendly pat on the arm. Phyllis remarked to the gathering at large, “if anyone else wishes to address me, I’d recommend doing so in second person.”

The lords nominated Mountararat their new spokesperson. And no wonder. As he made his speech – a speech which was frenzied, passionate, witty, intelligent and subtle all at once – Tolloller’s heart sank to hear George’s eloquence employed in another’s praise.

Apparently, that eloquence was wasted. Phyllis responded, quite haughtily given her lowly station, that she was not interested and that her heart was already taken.

As the other lords fell about in what Tolloller would term a tantrum, he turned to Mountararat and said quietly, “never mind, dear fellow. I thought it was very good.”

 

***

 

What Tolloller had not expected from today was an engagement. But that was, apparently, exactly what had happened. There was something he hadn’t quite followed, about shepherds and Hans Christian Andersen and terrific thunders, and then bam, Mountararat informed him that he, Tolloller, was engaged to Phyllis.

“Are you quite certain?”

“We both are,” replied Mountararat.

“You’re engaged to me too?” Tolloller looked up, brushing a strand of curly hair out of his eyes.

“To Phyllis.”

“Oh. Well, what are we going to do about it?”

“Marry her,” said Mountararat. “At least, that’s what I will do.”

Tolloller thought about it for a minute. He would never actively set out in search of a wife; but, he supposed, if he just happened across one – it would at least put an end to any further questions. It might not be a silly idea. “I suppose, as fiancées go, she’s rather a good one? Very pretty,” he ventured dubiously.

“Oh, extremely,” said Mountararat. “But you know, you mustn’t be jealous,” he teased.

“Jealous? Of what? We’re both engaged to her.”

“But Tolloller, dear chap, we can’t both _marry_ her. As a leading member of this country’s legislative body, you could at least keep track of the legislature you legislate.”

“Well, then,” said Tolloller, sticking his chin up proudly. “May the best man win.”

Mountararat’s laugh cut off short when he realised his friend wasn’t joking.

 

***

 

The following weeks passed in amiable rivalry between the two, but at every stage of the contest they found themselves tied. To the casual onlooker, it would seem that there was simply nothing to choose between them.

It was, of course, more complicated than that. Tolloller had no desire to win this particular contest, but the consequences of losing would be worse. He had no doubt that Mountararat’s infatuation with the girl was real, if at present rather shallow; he certainly didn’t want to watch it grow into Love Proper.

And as for Mountararat… Well, all things being equal, Tolloller should be the hands-down winner of this competition. He had everything: the looks; the blood so blue it matched his cerulean eyes; the most influential seat in the House. If only he had an ounce of brains! But as it was, Mountararat could not watch Tolloller humiliate himself in public without feeling himself squirm in empathy; and his own fondness for this sweet but incompetent Earl would bring Mountararat to his rescue against his own interests. Or something like that.

 

***

 

They began by buying new suits. They happened across one-another in the same Savile Row tailors on the same morning, quite by chance, and spent a pleasant hour picking out designs for one-another to try on. By the end of the hour they were both impeccably dressed. Stalemate.

The barber’s was next. Tolloller advised Mountararat that he simply must keep that miraculous moustache of his. Mountararat determined that he would offer no advice in return – then, at the last moment, he buckled and warned Tolloller against cutting his curls too short. After their respective appointments, they both looked perfectly neat and respectable – handsome, by some standards – and still there was nothing to choose between them. They were at a complete impasse.

At dinner, they sat either side of Phyllis. When Mountararat saw Tolloller floundering in conversation, quite out of his depth and lost for words and pink to his ears with embarrassment, he passed him a napkin inscribed with helpful prompts and compliments to address to Phyllis.

Tolloller wondered how he could possibly repay this, until the after-dinner dances began. Mountararat, for all his charm and finesse in conversation, was a clumsy dancer, and nearly tripped Phyllis up on several occasions. Tolloller on the other hand was grace itself. _Gosh._

When there was a gap in the dances, Tolloller took Mountararat aside. “We will have to fix that, I suppose,” he remarked. “If you would like my assistance?”

“I would be most grateful.”

 

***

 

They went outside, onto the roof terrace of the Lord Chancellor’s lovely townhouse. It was late, and the sky was speckled with distant stars.

“There’s no music,” remarked George, always the pragmatist.

Tolloller grinned apologetically. “I guess we’ll have to make do,” he said, and began to hum a tune. It was a surprisingly lovely, lilting sound. He showed Mountararat how he should hold his partner and lead, and the two settled into a slow-dance, simple and a little clumsy at first. As Mountararat found his feet and grew more confident, Tolloller was able to take his mind off the steps and focus on the cool night air, his own breathing, the warm form near to his. Mountararat was humming too, he noticed, a deeper, heavier sound, quiet but reassuring, which complimented his own melody.

And he was looking straight back into Thomas’ ocean-blue eyes.

 

***

 

But this was nothing. It was over almost at once, and George laughed quite affably, quite _platonically,_ and thanked Tolloller for his help. "Now that we're on an equal footing once more, back to the fray, eh?" and he was off.

Damn it. Damn it. Tolloller thought of every brush of the arm, every fond remark, every boisterous bit of clowning, every Significant Glance that Mountararat had ever thrown his way. He knew, with an unaccustomed flash of clarity, that he was a plaything, an amusement, and Mountararat was fooling around, letting him believe…

Enough of this. It was late, but he found his fiancée easily enough. She was outside the Houses of Parliament – presumably lurking around looking for that shepherd of hers. He was about to approach her, when _Mountararat_ emerged from the shadows opposite. “Phyllis, my darling!”

Not to be outdone, Tolloller also quickly stepped into view: “Phyllis, my own!”

The girl looked startled, then recalled, “oh… I suppose you’re the two noblemen I’m engaged to?”

“I am one,” said Mountararat.

“And _I_ ,” said Tolloller loudly, “am the other.”

Phyllis asked them, without much enthusiasm, whether they had yet settled which one of them she would be marrying.

“Not altogether. It’s a difficult position. It would _hardly be delicate to toss up,_ ” Tolloller said with a grumpy, pointed look at Mountararat.

“Why don’t you decide?” offered Mountararat graciously.

“Me?” replied Phyllis. “How can it possibly concern me? You are both Earls, and you are both rich, and you are both plain.”

Tolloller gasped. It had never occurred to him that someone might describe George in these terms. “So we are,” said Mountararat gravely. “At least, I am.”

“So am I!” said Tolloller quickly.

“No no!”

“I am indeed. Very plain.”

“Well well.” Tolloller felt Mountararat’s wry glance travel across his person. “Perhaps you are.”

Tolloller tried to keep his mind on the task at hand. He glanced around. Phyllis seemed to have lost interest and wandered off.

“Tolloller,” said Mountararat in an urgent whisper, “are you prepared to make this sacrifice?”

Sacrifice? Huh? Something about giving up his fortune. Tolloller shook his head vehemently.

“Not even to oblige a lady?”

“Not even to oblige a lady,” Tolloller echoed, blushing. He wished Mountararat wouldn’t tease him like this, over something he couldn’t control, much as he might like to. He steeled himself: “Look, the awkward part of the thing is, if you rob me of the girl of my heart, we must fight, and one of us must die! It’s a family tradition that I’ve sword to respect. It’s a painful position,” Tolloller continued awkardly, ”for I have a very strong regard for you, George.”

Mountararat seemed taken aback by the sound of his own name in Tolloller’s mouth. He floundered. “My dear Thomas!”

“You are very dear to me, George,” Tolloller continued. There seemed no way forwards but to confront his friend with plain speech. “We were boys together – at least I was. If I survive you, my existence will be hopelessly embittered.”

“Then, my dear Thomas, you must not do it. No no! If one of us is to destroy the other, let it be me!”

They continued in this manner for several minutes, George stubbornly refusing to take anything seriously as usual, Tolloller becoming increasingly hurt and regretting himself. Finally Phyllis intervened – “you know, it’s not worth it.”

Tollollor looked at George, and George met his eye.

For a moment, a long moment, Tolloller thought very hard and carefully.

“Well, I don’t believe it is,” he finally offered.

Here he was. Giving up. Let George do whatever he liked, Thomas would be no impediment to his happiness. At least the mockery would be over.

“Nor do I,” said George, gently. “The sacred ties of Friendship are paramount.”

 

***

 

The tune had come to Tollollor on the roof, as if from thin air. Now the words came to them both too. It was a lovely song, and singing it with George was lovelier still. Phyllis hurried off, part insulted, part relieved, and Thomas nestled himself into George’s arms and murmured contentedly: “Are we done with this nonsense now?”

“Yes, Thomas. Absolutely.”

"Just us? No more silliness?"

George kissed him softly on the forehead. An apology. A promise. Whatever it was, it was heaven itself.

Just then, two young women skipped up to them. They were lively and floral, and each had a pair of dainty translucent wings stretching from her shoulders.

“Sorry to interrupt,” one of them giggled –

“– but we’re looking for husbands!” the other one finished. “Two, exactly! (Aren’t they precious?)” she whispered to her friend.

“– and we wondered whether you two might, you know…”

The pair looked expectantly at them, wings quivering.

Tolloller laughed. He laughed! How ridiculous. He grinned humorously at George and – oh no. “ _George_!”

**Author's Note:**

> I scribbled this out today in about four hours because I just wanted to write something wholesome and gay. I didn't think it through very much so I hope it's up to scratch, I haven't compulsively proofread it for making sense/grammar/etc. like I normally would. But Tolloller is cute, and makes things very easy for me.


End file.
